


Surely it isn’t *that* cold outside, Ms. Swan.

by seriousfic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Music, F/F, Orgy, Song Lyrics, Song Parody, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What’s worse, living under Regina’s curse or having to sing Christmas music?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All I want for Christmas... guys, I'll be honest, I don't expect a laptop or anything. (I know you gave Cassandra Clare one, even though Joss Whedon wrote half her stuff, but no, no laptop.) All I really want is a good, decent beta. I'll take as many as I can get. Especially one that'd be willing to read original work, because I have this thing where I try to get people interested in that, they agree to that, and then they get murdered or something, because I never hear from them again. It's weird, because I do the same sort of thing in my manuscripts that I do in my fics. It's not like I go "now that Batman's off the table, let's discuss the Protocols of the Elders of Zion." So, if you're going to be murdered in the future, please don't inquire, but everyone else, I don't care what your fandoms are, I don't care whether you wear your genitalia on the inside or out, I don't care if you're a dog person or a cat person. If you can use Google Docs, I can use you.

It started with the Christmas ornaments. They were in the trash.

 

Henry looked for them, and Emma got a hunch they were in the curbside box she had seen on her drive over. She picked them up and brought them inside Regina’s place to find they were undamaged. The lights weren’t even tangled; Regina was just that anal.

 

Although not so anal as to have a Christmas tree. As Emma looked for an axe to cut one down—of course, Storybrooke had Christmas trees growing in the wild, and of course, Regina Mills had an axe—Regina happened upon them.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

 

“With this axe?” Emma asked, hoisting it on her shoulder. “Well, I know it’s most likely an execution axe, but I think I’ll just chop down a tree.”

 

“We have firewood.”

 

“Yeah. This one would be more for tinsels, popcorn balls, candy canes, presents underneath—“ Regina looked confused. “A Christmas tree?”

 

Regina took a moment, as if she’d never heard of one before, then laughed uproariously. “Christmas tree? Don’t be ridiculous, Emma, we don’t celebrate Christmas.”

 

“Unless Fox News has gotten things spectacularly right, yeah, we do. I was here last Christmas, remember?”

 

Regina put her hands on her hips, as she did when Emma was being exceptionally stupid. “Yes. That was when the town was under the Curse. Now that the Curse is lifted, our citizenry have returned to their native beliefs.”

 

Emma spread her hands, unintentionally swinging the axe far enough to pull herself off-balance. “Alright, so everyone’s Jewish or whatever. That doesn’t mean we can’t open presents and watch Die Hard like normal people.”

 

“Obviously, Ms. Swan, Die Hard is acceptable viewing on any occasion, but back in the Enchanted Forest, we didn’t open presents. We celebrated Saturnalia with a blood orgy.”

 

“Saturn-what?” Emma blinked. “Blood _what?”_

Regina waved her off. “If your parents didn’t explain the traditional Saturnalia blood orgy to you, I certainly won’t. Suffice to say, it’s quite a good bit of fun.”

 

Emma glanced at the distant Henry, who was hanging up stockings (thrown out with the ornaments). “Somehow ‘blood orgy’ doesn’t sound appropriate for children.”

 

“Of course not. Not _all of us_ want our children to have teen pregnancies.” Regina got that faraway look she always had when she zinged Mary-Margaret, wishing the woman was there to take the hit. “That’s why on Saturnalia, all children go to bed early.”

 

That part Henry heard. “We have to go to bed early? What about trying to catch Santa?”

 

“There is no Santa!” Regina called back.

 

“Regina!” Emma cried.

 

“There’s no… Santa?”

 

“Yes, Henry, there is a Santa,” Emma assured him. “And he’s bringing you lots of presents because you’ve been such a good boy!”

 

“No, he’s not, he’s dead.”

 

“ _Regina, you didn’t!”_

“I was barely involved!” Regina protested, then mouthed ‘Captain Hook.’

 

Emma reflected that these people had more backstory than Gandalf the fucking Gray.

 

“You’re being funny,” she told Regina. “I can tell because you’re not funny.”

 

“If I were lying, would I throw out my own Christmas ornaments? I don’t need them. All you need to bring to a blood orgy is yourself—and possibly a few items that I’m sure you’re well-versed in.”

 

Emma stared her down. “Henry, guard that Christmas stuff with your life. I’m talking to Mary-Margaret. Because if one person has the Christmas spirit to save Christmas in this town, it’s Snow _effin’_ White!”

 

***

 

“But… when would we celebrate Saturnalia?” Mary-Margaret asked.

 

Her apartment, Emma was somewhat traumatized to discover, definitely seemed to be being prepared for—something. Snacks were being prepared, tarps were being laid out, and there definitely seemed to be more condoms around than Emma was used to.

 

“But, Mary-Margaret… a _blood orgy?_ ”

 

“Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” David replied, coming over to put an arm around Mary-Margaret’s waist. “See, the ‘blood’ is just wine, fruit punch—any lager is acceptable, too.”

 

“And the orgy?”

 

“That’s just people having sex,” Mary-Margaret answered.

 

“But… you’re married!”

 

Mary-Margaret laughed. “I know that, silly! I’ll probably just be having sex with my hubby here.” She patted David’s broad chest. “And Ruby.”

 

“Unless you want to have sex with Ruby,” David said. “In which case, we completely understand—“

 

_“I do not want to have sex with Ruby!”_ Emma cried, utterly exasperated. “Well, okay, maybe a little…”

 

“That’s the spirit, Emma!”

 

Emma shook her head. “ I can’t believe this. I thought you guys were from fairy tales. Aren’t you all about—courtly love and chastity?”

 

“Sweetie, medieval times had a lot more cursing and sex than you think. Don’t you watch Game of Thrones?”

 

“No!”

 

Mary-Margaret turned suddenly vehement. She grabbed Emma by the scarf. “Don’t! Whatever you do, don’t! It will ruin your life! It’s not television, it’s a life-ruiner!”

 

David drew her back by the shoulders and she burst into tears, burying her face in his chest. “Sorry, she’s still not over the Red Wedding.”

 

_“And so he spoke, and so he spoke,”_ Mary-Margaret sobbed into David’s chest. “ _That lord of Castamere_ …”

 

Emma was backing away. “I think I’ll just go before the double penetrations start.”

 

She went to the door and was somewhat perturbed to find Hook there. He’d traded in his usual Rocky Horror Picture Show outfit for a white polo shirt, white shorts, tennis shoes, and a baseball cap (the Pittsburgh Pirates, of course).

 

“Ah, the lovely Emma Swan. I’ve already managed to engage your lovely parents’ interest in the evening’s festivities; care to make it a foursome?”

 

Emma grabbed his hook and embedded it in the drywall, knowing how hard it was for him to get it loose once he was stuck. Then she left.

 

Hook dropped his racket to pull at his hook. “Your daughter have something against tennis?”

 

***

 

“Sorry, kid,” Emma said over the phone. “Looks like we’re on our own for Christmas. We’ll stay up late and have a James Bond marathon together.”

 

“Why would we watch James Bond movies on Christmas?” Henry asked, Regina having tucked him into bed but neglected to confiscate his/Dopey’s cell phone (like the guy could talk anyway).

 

“I don’t know, it’s tradition. Happened every year in prison.”

 

“We’re having a prison Christmas?”

 

“Best I can do, Henry. And, uh, I might be helping Santa deliver your presents.”

 

“Santa’s not even coming in person? This is the worst Christmas ever. It used to be all snowball fights and ice-skating and hot cocoa! Now, everyone wants to listen to some stupid organ playing!”

 

“Well, when you’re older, maybe you’ll be happy you have an organ… I mean, _hey,_ it’s still Christmas even if people don’t celebrate it! They’re showing A Christmas Story like, fifty times for some reason. And there’s Frosty the Snowman outside my— _HEY, GET AWAY FROM MY WINDOW, YOU PERVERT, I’M NOT WEARING PANTS!”_

“You’re giving me _a second_ carrot, lady!” Henry heard in the background.

 

“I’ve got a hair-dryer, you round bitch!” Emma replied.

 

“I’ll be back again someday!” Henry heard, the voice receding in the distance.

 

“So yeah,” Emma said into the receiver again, “it’s gonna be a great Christmas.”

 

“Don’t worry, mom, I’ll take care of Christmas for you. You just focus on keeping that blue organ safe.”

 

“Kiddo, don’t do anything dumb. I want all your vital organs still inside your body when I get home!”

 

“Mom, that was, like, an entire hiatus ago.”

 

He could _feel_ her frowning. “Good word use, but don’t get cocky with me, kid.” She hung up.

 

Henry hid his phone and looked at the spellbook that Regina had also neglected to confiscate. One of the spells looked like exactly what he needed.

 

After all, the best way to spread Christmas cheer was singing loud for all to hear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, this fic was inspired a bit by this post (http://mybaelfire.tumblr.com/post/68934221299/can-we-please-have-a-christmas-themed-ouat-musical). Sorry it ended up not having any Swan Thief in it. But c'mon, you knew what you were getting into, entering this fandom.

Emma wasn’t much of a cook. She didn’t even watch cooking shows. She didn’t even reblog cooking gifs on Tumblr. But how hard could cooking Christmas dinner be? You just followed instructions, right?

 

She went into Mary-Margaret’s apartment—on Emma’s strenuous objection, Mary-Margaret had been convinced to relocate the blood orgy to the jail, where there was more room as well as “Nightsticks and handcuffs!” As she’d hoped, all the ingredients were waiting for her in the kitchen. She put on a Muppet Christmas Carol for Henry and rolled up her sleeves.

 

Half an hour later, Regina showed up. Emma was just glad it wasn’t the fire department.

 

“Is that a baking soda volcano?” Regina asked.

 

“No, it’s a turkey.”

 

“Once upon a time, perhaps. Now, it’s a baking soda volcano.”

 

“ _It’s not a—_ “ Emma pursed her lips, feeling a bit like a Muppet herself. “Are you going to help or what?”

 

Regina pursed her lips in turn and picked up one of Mary-Margaret’s aprons (she gave Emma a look upon noting its blue and yellow colors, as if to say “See what I do for you?”). She put it on over her festively red and white minidress, which Emma could imagine putting in an appearance—or disappearing act—at the orgy. Properly dressed, Regina began salvaging a mixing bowl of cookie dough. It had gone from a supermarket tin into the bowl, so Emma didn’t think she had messed it up too bad.

 

“So you’re not headed to, uh, Saturnalia?” Emma said, feeling an inexplicable relief.

 

“I have time for a quick bite before a few quickies.”

 

“So you _are_ attending. Hunh. Wouldn’t think you’d want to attend an orgy with a whole town that hates you.”

 

“Have you ever had sex with someone who feels an intense rivalry towards you?” Regina eyed her. “It can be very demanding… heated. A contest of wills, Ms. Swan… and coming second is not without its charms.”

 

“Ever had sex with someone who _didn’t_ hate you, highness?” Emma eyed her right back. “Everything soft… caring… gentle. Just luxuriating in the warmth of your love for each other.”

 

Regina took a step closer to her. “Lick my rod.”

 

“What?”

 

“My rod.” Regina held up the wooden spoon she’d been using to mix the cookie dough. “I’m done with it, and I doubt you’re too mature to lick the dough off it.”

 

“Hell no.” Emma took a long lick.

 

Regina seemed to stare at her tongue. “None for Henry?”

 

“He wants some, he can help cook.”

 

“You have an enterprisingly ruthless spirit, Ms. Swan. Help me find the rainbow sprinkles.”

 

“Hey,” Emma said, oddly pressed on the conversation continuing. “Have you noticed anyone… bursting into song lately?”

 

“I thought I saw Mary-Margaret and David singing Let It Snow, but I was too busy trying not to kill myself to be sure.”

 

“I saw Granny Lucas singing Good King Wenceslas. Hunh.”

 

“Ah, with the famed deductive reasoning of Sheriff Swan on the case, the mystery of the people singing on Christmas will be solved in no time.”

 

***

 

In record time, Regina had a holiday feast for three done. Emma thought she used magic, but she was pretty sure Martha Stewart did too, so fuck it. Regina ate sparingly, Emma less so, and Henry ended up in a food coma on the couch while Emma and Regina watched Rise of the Guardians on either side of him.

 

“I don’t see why every children’s movie needs a legion of speechless little creatures running around making sight gags,” Regina complained.

 

“What, the elves? They’re cute. Kids like cute things. As do the non-homicidal in general.”

 

Regina gave Emma that look of hers. “When you have to watch every children’s movie the Saturday it comes out, then tell me how cute these minion wannabes are. No, no, even the minions were Ewok wannabes.”

 

“Don’t talk shit about the minions, Mills. They make me wanna be a better woman.”

 

“Well, something has to.” Regina checked her watch. “Orgy’s getting started. I’d better be on my way or I won’t even be in time for sloppy seconds.”

 

Emma made a face. “You could stay with us, you know. Magic up some presents for Henry—give me five minutes, I’ll run to the store and find you something.”

 

“Much as I might want an air freshener or beer cozy, _I really can’t stay.”_ Regina stood, looked slightly perturbed at her momentary musicality, then marched for the door.

 

Emma followed close on her heels. “ _But baby it’s cold outside.”_

 

Regina swiftly grabbed up her coat from the hall tree. “ _I got to go away.”_

And Emma, just as swiftly, stuck her arm down one sleeve as Regina took the other, ending up in a sort of getalong straitjacket. “ _But baby it's cold outside.”_

The former mayor resolutely shook her arm out of her coat and grabbed Emma’s jacket instead. “ _This evening has been—“_

Emma shirked off the coat and flung it around Regina’s shoulders to pull her close. “ _\--been hoping that you'd drop in._ ”

 

“ _So very nice,”_ Regina corrected sarcastically, prying Emma’s hands off her coat.

 

Emma clamped down on Regina’s. “ _I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice.”_

_“My mama will start to worry.”_ Regina’s voice faltered, remembering the last person she’d stayed out late with. The pain was so fresh it was hard to remember her mother was gone.

 

But Emma snapped her out of it, bopping her forehead against hers with a grin as infectious as a kid in a candy shop. “ _Beautiful, what's your hurry?”_

 

Regina refused to let Emma’s high spirits rouse her; turning away, remembering one more sacrifice she’d made in her campaign for nothing. “ _My daddy will be pacing the floor.”_

 

Still with a deathgrip on her hands, Emma tugged back, pulling Regina back into the living room. “ _Listen to the fireplace roar.”_

 

Regina dug her heels in. “ _Really I better scurry.”_

 

Emma separated her hands and pulled them behind her back, causing Regina to embrace her. “ _Beautiful, please don't hurry.”_

 

Regina bit her lip in thought, suddenly liking the nearness of Emma—whilst also being quite annoyed with it. “ _Maybe just half a drink more.”_

Emma practically _skipped_ to what Mary-Margaret had the audacity to call a liquor cabinet. “ _Put some records on while I pour.”_

And just as suddenly, Regina was cured of her insanity. “ _The neighbors might think,”_ that she actually **regretted** her actions and wanted some sort of **redemption** and, oh, that she was **brooding** over her dark, evil past. Come now…

 

 _“Baby it's bad out there,”_ Emma argued, shoving a glass into her hands.

 

 _“Say, what's in this drink?”_ Regina gave the glass a shake. It was a plastic ice cube with a rubber fly. Very mature, Ms. Swan. She drank anyway.

 

 _“No cabs to be had out there,”_ Emma crooned directly into Regina’s face as she lowered the glass.

 

_I wish I knew how_

_Your eyes are like starlight_

_To break this spell_

_I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell_

The sight of Emma absconding with her fur hat, one of many clothing items Regina had been happy to reintroduce to her wardrobe once her true identity was known, broke her ‘spell’ quicker than true love’s kiss. She snatched it away from Emma.

 

_“I ought to say: ‘No, no, no, sir.’”_

 

 _“Mind if I move in a bit closer?”_ Emma asked, poking Regina’s hat so it tilted at a rakish angle and slipped down over one eye like a Veronica Lake hairdo.

 

Regina wondered if anyone could expect her not to flambe the princess. “ _At least I'm going to say I tried.”_

 

 _“What's the sense of hurting my pride?_ ” Emma returned, having no idea that her eyeballs, heart, and spleen were more opportune targets.

 

 _“I really can't stay,”_ Regina insisted at the same time Emma said “ _Baby, don't hold out.”_ Then they both sang “ _Baby, it's cold outside.”_

“Wait, why am I agreeing with you? …Emma?”

 

“Yes, Regina?”

 

“I think we’re in a musical number.”

 

Emma looked around. “That does explain the background music. I think there’s a second verse. You sing about your maiden aunt, which doesn’t really fit—“

 

“No, let’s not bring the Wicked Witch of the West into this.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Ms. Swan,” Regina said carefully. “If there’s one thing I regret about teleporting myself and all my hated enemies to 1983, it’s having to put up with the baby boomers and their insipid nostalgia fetish. Just because you heard a song when you were a child does not make it a holiday classic!”

 

“I don’t know, I kinda liked N’Sync’s _Home For Christmas._ ”

 

“And as long as you don’t try to have that played every hour, on the hour, for every Christmas _for the next forty years,_ I will tolerate it. But no, no, I simply refuse to do a second verse.”

 

“Suck it up, Reggie, I had to sing choir in Catholic school. I still have nightmares in Latin…”

 

“Very _well._ But would you have any objections to me changing the tune? No, wait, I don’t care.” Regina closed her eyes and began to gesture. “Though this would be a lot easier if I had my magic wand.”

 

“I could go get mine from my bed… oh. Not what you’re talking about, is it?”

 

“Actually, that could come in useful.” With a hand motion much like she was scratching an invisible record, the background music changed to something a bit more—urban.

 

Regina stalked toward as if she were about to wring her neck, stopping at the last instant to turn on her heel and—grind her ass against Emma’s crotch. “ _All you ladies pop your pussy like this/Shake your body: don't stop, don't miss/All you ladies pop your pussy like this/Shake your body: don't stop, don't miss.”_

“Uh, Regina?”

 

Regina casually ushered Emma to her knees. _“Just do it, do it, do it, do it, do it now/Lick it good, suck this pussy just like you should/Right now, lick it good/Suck this pussy just like you should.”_

Then she started thrusting her crotch in Emma’s face, just in case Emma had gone deaf.

 

“Regina, c’mon, I know it’s Saturnalia and all, but I’m not going to sleep with you. This is a fairy tale town, not a weird fanfic town.”

 

Regina just turned around and started rolling her ass. Okay, clearly Mama Mills had gotten the hook-up, because that was a Kardashian-level booty (in Emma’s humble opinion). “ _My neck, my back/Lick my pussy and my crack.”_

Emma just shook her head. No. No, no, no. Just because Regina was doing an admirable job of singing an excellent rap song did not mean Emma would be having oral sex with her. No way. It wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t doing it.

 

Okay, maybe a little.


End file.
